Poetry+2008

Garden Music by Jo Dunlap There is no music here today The gazing ball is a dull green-gray The tables have turned, the weeds grown tall Harmonies and melodies I recall Orange and yellow the moss flowers splay Purple clusters dance and sway Butterfly frozen in metallic form Tangles of roses surrounding doors The bells do not ring, lights fail to shine Distant bird calls on the breeze, sublime Honeybees travel from bloom to bloom Quietly collecting, flowers fading soon The rhythm of water, tumbling over stone Breezes in treetops, dropping cones Though no man with instrument has taken the stage Majestic music plays here today

Andrew: Earlier, I had posted "Ode to a Wrap-Around-Skirt" & "In a Crowded Waiting Room" between the middle and the bottom of this list. Today I added "Welcoming Sunrise", "MIA" and "Morning Prayer". I posted them all togther in the same place and wanted you to know, in case you'd already worked with the bottom of the list prior to the time the virus interrupted our posting. Meg Rice

Antithesis Vernette Chance Metallic scritch from an unseen cicada Clink of what looks like a chain of stone beads against a flagpole Rustle of leaves from sentinel trees in a grove just behind Gentle slap of flags arranged in a semicircle Peace on this morning A memorial plaza the antithesis of what it commemorates-- War and its cost

Lotus World Vernette Chance

Flat, green leaves, landing pads for frogs, float on the water’s surface, Buds fat, tear-shaped, tightly folded and tuliplike Blossoms an exotic explosion of pale-rose petals tipped with fuchsia Like water-born peonies. Dragon flies--one glorious with ice-blue body and Black, velvety wings tipped in matching blue, Swivels its head that seems all eyes when I bend close to study its Aeronautical construction. Further out, another tiny dragon, all amber and glowing Whose translucent wings, back-lit, look like goldleaf, Hovers and dips gently, a tiny jewel Suspended against green stalks. A frog catapults from bank to water and floats suspended Three inches below the surface, looking up. He clasps the lotus stem with his front toes As though it were a parasol.

Colorful Vinegar Memories by Shirley Crosby

T’was the day before Easter and all through the kitchen every young child in our house was straining to listen for the tea kettle’s high pitched whistling sound calling all budding artists “gather ‘round.” Mom in her apron had been very careful to put drops of food-color in each little vessel. Then spoonful by spoonful she’d gingerly add to each cup a substance that smelled rather bad. The vinegar helped the colors all stick when she poured in hot water completing the trick. The colors how glorious with one dip of blue And using a crayon helped add pictures too. There were yellow and green eggs with pictures of bunnies Someone even made theirs look like the Sunday funnies We felt like magicians mixing this color and that Then back into egg cartons each one was sat Yellow and blue made a beautiful green blue and red the pretties purple ever seen We laughed and giggled as we took to our task coloring baskets of eggs in my Easter long past.

(CENTER ON PAGE, SINGLE SPACE WITH 2 SPACES BETWEEN STANZAS. PUT CLOTHES IN FIRST STANZA IN ALL CAPS)

Eve by Kay Clark

Oh Eve Why did you bite the apple? You brought women such woe pain of childbirth “female complaints” and most of all CLOTHES

Panties, bras, slips and hose Who wants to be bothered with those? Panties that ride up Socks that slip down Bras that stab and cause pain, Hose that sprout runs, are really no fun and slips that descend Must be pulled up again... Surreptitiously

Then. . .What shall I wear? Does this make me look fat? Is this color truly for me? This outfit’s passé Goes to Goodwill today

All are womens’ plight Since Eve took a bite Of the apple.

Had she followed instructions And thought ahead, We’d all be comfortable in skin But no, she wavered, Exciting disfavor Creating the plight that we’re in.

Kan-ku (Haik-as) by Sally Kimball

World’s largest twine ball, Hand-dug well, sink hole, Eden. What’s not to like here?

Wild rolling Flint Hills Mighty buffalo once roamed Only ghosts remain

Hawks soaring patrol Sentries of the endless blue Hunting formation

Coyotes’ odd yip Melancholy pack signals Prairie siren’s wail

Owls telegraphing Breaking news report at dawn Neighborhood wireless

Dawn creeps towards the day Sun’s calisthenics routine Barely beginning Stately sunflower Yellow-on-green uniform Prairie sentinal

(CENTER POEMS, BOLD TITLES, 2 SPACES BETWEEN STANZAS, JUST LIKE THIS)

Reflections on a Marriage by Kay Clark

What was the cost of loving you? Youth and self-esteem What was the cost of loving you? 25 years gone With my youth and self-esteem

With you--- lonely, sad, angry try to maintain sense of self emotionally abused poor in spirit With you---Nobody

Without you--- freedom, flying high feeling good about myself stable once again Without you---Somebody!

Haiku Inspiration: Prairie Pines by Kay Clark

Walden chose the pond Away from bustle and noise Now, I understand

Tinkling waters fall Destination placid pool Lily pads await

Prairie Pines will soothe Weary souls who search for peace Come, friend, walk with me

Trip to the Mid-America Indian Center The card near the photographic portrait reads “Laura Dumore, Kiowa.” The face of the woman in the photograph stopped me as I walked along the gallery. by Vernette Chance What is your story? Where did you live? Why did someone take this picture? Was it because you are beautiful, As elegant as any Beacon Hill lady And just as tastefully dressed? I’m sure those aren’t your everyday clothes. Were you someone’s idea of a poster Indian woman, //Cosmo// Indian Princess, Kiowa Brittany Spears? I hope not. I hope someone took your picture Because you were interesting And mesmerizing in your red dignity Turned black and white by the camera.
 * Laura Dumore, Kiowa**

“The White Man Arranges to Return What He’s Taken” by Steve Maack Are you sure you still want it back? If you do, I’ll drop it off at a place Where you can pick it up, And make sure you sign for it Because I need a receipt. You have my trust, But I’ll leave it locked up so no one else takes it, And since I can’t leave the key (which would be silly, To leave it right there, locked, with the key there too,  So just anyone could walk off with it), We’ll have to arrange to get you the key— Or I could just keep the key so that I can use it While I wait for you to pick it up. I’d really like to take care of this As soon as possible, if you don’t mind. There’s no point in having it sit there, Something so useful unused, Waiting for you to take it back. Maybe I’ll keep it for now And then you can pick it up When you’re ready for it, Because when I got it from you, I didn’t suspect you’d want it back. Why don’t you just come by and get it? But call first, And leave a message if I don’t answer, Or if you stop by and knock, Or ring the bell while I’m not home, Leave a note on the door— I’ll get right back to you And we can arrange a time for you To come by at a later date and pick it up. Are you sure you still want it back? I’m afraid I’m still using it, And my kids are hoping they’ll get it from me— I don’t see them really ever being done with it, But I understand your impatience And your wish to have it returned. Maybe we could share it— I’ll hang on to it, and you can have it Whenever you want to use it. And I should probably tell you That it’s not in the best shape, Quite damaged actually— I hope that’s okay. But I’m ready to give it back, Small parts of it anyway, Whenever you come by and pick it up, Assuming my kids are done with it, And they’re willing to share it. Are you sure you still want it back?

Am I Blue? by Sally Kimball

Why are the blues blue? While green may be soothing, red, a bull's nemesis, Why are the blues blue?

Yellow is cheering warmth, the sunshine. Orange screams of summer and vibrant warnings… So why are the blues blue? Blue: one of my favorite colors. Primary, standing alone, blue is the sky or the ocean. Mixed, it becomes green or purple, gray or brown— So why are the blues blue? Singers capture the depth of the blues—perhaps it’s that emotional ocean that makes us think of blue. The encompassing sky can either inspire or overwhelm, Or be as dark as thunder clouds, hailing rain, raining hail Perhaps that’s how the blues turned blue For all its shades and nuances, the Blues, like the color, surround, enfold, lift up, put down We turn blue when we’re cold; we ask why the sky is blue, We sing the blues But why are they blue? Did someone first hold their breath too long? Did someone else think of tragedy? Since life is rosy, pink, alive with warmth and yellows, did blue, the dark side of the color wheel, Become the symbol for coldness? We see blue ice, blue cold—cobalt blue sky of winter— Perhaps it makes sense then, that the blues are blue. Kermit sings about green, Billie Holliday (and others) get the blues, But loving various blues doesn’t mean having them ; Having them doesn’t mean loving the color less. Perhaps giving blue to the blues was intentional—no other color is quite like the blues

Feline Flight by Sally Kimball

Frankie can fly

Fine boned, dainty Yet still dapper in her Black and white tuxedo

Four white-lightning legs On pink-padded paws Black jacket thrown over shoulders

She leaps, fully extended A blue-skyed launch The world jettisons past While time stands still

She pivots, a full 360-spin Mid-air piroutte

Poised in that snap-shot second Her talon-toed full-gainer stretch Just nicks the jay's tail feathers

She gazes longingly On her parachute descent Her disappointed thud tells me

It was worth the try.

Phone Games by Natalie Turner

Ring, please ring, please I sit staring, willing it to sound Silence makes my thoughts drift Didn’t I just see him Earlier today?

Ring, come on, please I’m not concentrating hard enough We laughed when we talked yesterday He remembered the night We first met

Why aren’t you ringing? I close my eyes tight, make it ring I glance at the clock; it’s 9:00 He always calls by now, Retrace what I last said, what I did Ring, it has to ring

Wring my hands and stare at it more How much time has passed; it’s 9:15 We still have so much to do together Movie on Thursday, game on Friday

It’s not ringing, find a distraction I keep saying to myself, do something else Don’t answer now if he does call Check the time, no, don’t look Doesn’t matter now, it’s over.

(Andrew! The itallicized lines should be indented an inch)

Myself and Eye by Jo Dunlap

I slept fitfully, never reaching that restful state. //What’s with my rhythms?// I am more exhausted than when I lay down. //that snoring bag of flesh over there will be fine.// Slowly I drag my legs over the side of the worn down mattress and place my toes gently on the carpet. My toes wiggle and dig through the surface of the ancient navy blue carpet and absently fiddle with the worn fibers of the jute backing. //Never buy navy blue; it shows everything and red Kool-aid leaves purple blotches.// I could lie back down. //Won’t sleep.// I’m beat. //No sub plans.// With a short-lived burst of energy stemming only from the understanding there is too much to accomplish, I rise and begin the ritual designed to keep my face as young as my heart. //Unfair// First I reach toward the nearest toothbrush on the rack, rinse the dry and stiffened bristles with cool water, slather the surface with minty paste and scrub and spit until the taste of night lay more at the bottom of the sink than the back of my mouth. //More whitening strips.// I carefully open the little plastic container holding the bar. //diamond dust and gold leaf considering the cost.// Turn the faucet to the left and grab one of the plush, sand colored wash cloths. //-specially designed to cleanse and exfoliate aging skin!// Avoid the eyes; move outward in a circular motion, then rinse. //What if I just went back and forth.// Treat the blemishes, moisturize, cover blemishes. //Not supposed to get zits anymore.// Protect those pores by moving in a downward motion to apply foundation containing sunscreen. //Now I’m a house.// Deodorize, Powder, Splash, Spritz //I’m choking in an aromatic fog!// We must maintain our bodies and promote hygiene. //twelve hour protection, from what!// Get dressed. //Black matches everything.// Wander out to care for the barking dog. //Shut the hell up.// Pour some cereal. //I long for a donut.// Meditate in the open air with the blue jays and morning sunlight. //I give in.// There is promise in every new day.

(Andrew! The first line of each stanza should be flush left, the second line in each stanza should indent one-half inch, the third line an inch, and the fourth line one and one-half inch)

Waterfall by Jo Dunlap

The water catapults over the rocky ledge plunging through space into the abyss.

Standing at the top I cannot tell. What form will it take? What path will it break?

Where does the one drop begin? When did the molecules join to make something more? How did this gain momentum?

It is too powerful. I shiver. I will myself to pry eyes open- to look with my soul.

Constant spray envelops my body Clothes cling to my skin. Hair lies plastered to my forehead I can see nothing beyond.

The rivulets trace a path down the side of my nose. I wipe it away like the erosion of rock beneath.

Standing in awe, observing the power before me, This force has carved deep caverns through the most magnificent structures.

Vision so beautiful Sound so intimidating More than man capably comprehends

Breathtakingly Powerful, Intoxicatingly Complex

Simply a waterfall in a mountain stream, canyons with layers of multicolored stone stacked, counting the years back to the time of cavemen.

Baptized with Your splendor, Intimidated by Your power, Overwhelmed by Your grace, Standing, paralyzed by Your presence--

Contemporary Cowboys by Teralyn Cohn

Rope Wranglers Setting up an event tent Relishing minutes of time Lariat loops, spinning symbols Lasso imaginary cattle Parking lot asphalt replaces arena dirt Former pasture walled in by the city Jumping though the loop A visual metaphor Of their occupation.

Writing Wounded by Teralyn Cohn

My cover crackles when opened To reveal crisp clean pages of tree pulp in a hue of ivory. A hand gripping a leaking weapon approaches Marring my beautiful unspoiled interior. It bleeds in a rhythmic pattern How do I stop it? I flutter my pages to interfere with the process Another hand captures the pages and holds them prisoner The black blood continues to flow My insides absorb the pain and fluid without protest. The weapon scratches furiously for several minutes And then pauses for a time as if to take a breath. I wait, anticipating the instrument’s next move More wounds appear on my flesh Short staccato slashes followed by languid loops Periodic punctures try to invade more than one layer. How much longer can this agony continue?

Hands caress the edges of my pages as the cover closes. These attacks are frequent invasions of my being For three solid weeks and then, I am left alone to heal for days at a time Only to be injured again in short bursts of passion Why am I being attacked like this? When will it end? Several weeks pass before that weapon inflicts more pain This assault is accompanied by salty liquid Intermingling with the black wounds, blurring the edges The pain is also somewhat dulled by these droplets A survey of the wounds reveal an unsteady pattern What can this mean? A month later, my cover is opened, quieter with use This new weapon issues blood of a different color It returns to wounded pages, making stabs and swirls Seemingly to open old sores Definitely not a restorative process Yet, the pain is not as sharp as previously noted. My interior reveals varied skirmishes Some attacks have been short While others involve several pages at a time Indicating a lengthy battle However, wounds heal and become battle scars Ribbons of defeat and conquest. The frequency of the battles have subsided Giving my injuries time to recover I have become proud of these new tattoos Declaring to all my resilience and growth As my exterior fades My interior becomes all the more brilliant.

Mini Van After School by Sally Neill Bridge (LINE 19, BOLD MOM! HAVE TO HAVE LINE 25, BOLD NO! MOM! LINE 28, BOLD MOM GOT TO READ LINE 30, ITALICIZE ENTIRE LINE, BRAINS FLYING... LINE 31, ITALICIZE ENTIRE LINE, FIVE...) Chirping, Chirping, Chirping

Everybody buckled? Mom, I don’t like to work with Kate, she is so bossy… Mom…Mom…Ted threw mud at me, I told him… Wait your turn, you’re interrupting. Cah, twuk, twuk… Did you see a truck? Good, Connor, say trruuck. Have you tried taking turns with Kate? Mom, Kate has to do all the work sheet, and if I do some she… And some of it got in my eye…Oooh, yuuuk, siiick, Connor spilled the coke! Here, quick, wipe it up with this rag. Daw…daw… Yes, Connor, that’s a dog, a big dog. Chirp, Chirp Mom, I’ve tried everything, she’s just impossible. Cow. No, that’s a horse, say… She has to have her way and if I try… **Mom!** I **have to have** my library book read for tomorrow. Bawk. Yes, Connor, boook…book. Bronwyn, read Connor the book. Seth, what if you tell Kate… I can’t read. You can read the pictures. What if you and Kate divide… No, Connor, **NO**! Don’t tear the page. **Mom**! Connor’s tearing… Eeeee! Let him turn the page, he just wants to look. **Mom**, I’ve **got to read** my book! Shhhh, everybody quiet, I can’t think! // Brain’s flying out of my head…eighteen years of school… //// Five minutes to get to dance lessons…groceries, library… // Chirp Oh, yeah, Mom, can I invite a friend over? I want a friend over too! Cow…moooo…cow…moooo.

Kneading Meditation by Sally Neill Bridge Rounded, oval dome of dough Smoothness stretched over plumpness Yeasty, wheat flour aroma Dusted with white powder Punchy, satiny, stretchy Knead ten minutes Fingers curl on dome of dough Pull toward you Push down, away with heel of hand Quarter turn Pull, push, turn Dust with flour Pull, push, turn Flour… White flour…use whole wheat flour Good fiber, nutritious How would whole wheat pizza taste From scratch…healthier…takes time Little time to cook… Pull, push, turn Pull, time, turn Time… Pretty daughter, determined Help son with school work Daughter needs more… Baby only two…needs mom to play… Husband needs…torn… Pull, push, torn Pull, push, turn Torn… Never seem to give enough Work, school, mothering Laundry, cooking, cleaning… Time… to have fun Need…fun Pull, push, turn Pull, fun, turn Fun… Need more time… Swing, play in park Older women say “Enjoy! Best years of your life!” “Be gone before you know it.” Pull, best, turn Pull, push, torn Best… Be a good mother Do well at work Want the best For children…husband For me…I need… Need… Pull, push, turn Hands dusted with white flour powder Fingers pull, push dome of dough Nose flooded with yeast flour aroma Kneading

Who Will Hear Her Children Crying? by Sally Neill Bridge A chilling winter rain Patters, pouring, pelting Relentless drone of icy beads Tap, tap, tap…a dirge upon the roof. Cotton canvas stretched on pole Drenched and dripping Harsh wind whips, flaps Shelter against bleak winter. Raw winter dampness Frigid fingers probing Grasping, clutching, clinging Creeping in threadbare coats. Chill grabs, grips ribs Bites cheeks, cracks lips Piercing cold numbs toes Fingers tingle, sting, burn. Rounded pleading eyes Children whine and cry Hunger grips bellies Gnawing, twisting, wrenching. Starving children whimper Huddle against mother Heads burrow in her chest Certain warmth against cold. Exhausted, silent, numb Enfolds them in her arms Desperation etches Her face, lips drawn taut. Her eyes, a flicker Light deep within Her dignity Sole sustenance. Who will hear her children crying? Who will heed the cry of poverty?

The Feast by Sally Neill Bridge Jet black hair, Flashing smile, dark eyes, Long slender legs, An hourglass figure too sensuous to conceal. Spinning threads of flattery, Woven with eyelashes fluttering, A lingering look of hunger, Lures to the feast. Gentle caresses, Lips poised, pouting, Innocence she claims, Patiently waiting… The man aroused… Hesitantly approaches… Engulfed…senses tingling, Ecstasy in the glistening gossamer. The man entangled, But wife and children! Struggling, frantic, Her kiss of poison… Paralyzed, wrapped in her magic, The woman feasts, Sucks the life blood, Discards the hollow shell. The black widow Spins her web of fine silk thread, Waiting.

Pillow Talk by Sally Neill Bridge  Cat curled on pillow Fluff ball Puuurrrrrrring  Paw stretches Dusts her cheek Sandpaper kisses  Pet me!

In a Crowded Waiting Room ** by Meg Rice  Fear walked in and sat on me,  <span style="FONT-SIZE: 11pt; COLOR: black; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">Reclaimed my attention <span style="FONT-SIZE: 11pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"> <span style="FONT-SIZE: 11pt; COLOR: black; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">After days away. <span style="FONT-SIZE: 11pt; COLOR: black; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"> <span style="FONT-SIZE: 11pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> <span style="FONT-SIZE: 11pt; COLOR: black; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">Faith hung fear’s dark cloak, <span style="FONT-SIZE: 11pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"> <span style="FONT-SIZE: 11pt; COLOR: black; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">On a <span style="FONT-SIZE: 11pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">patient hanger in God’s closet <span style="FONT-SIZE: 11pt; COLOR: black; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">After the biopsy, <span style="FONT-SIZE: 11pt; COLOR: black; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"> <span style="FONT-SIZE: 11pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> <span style="FONT-SIZE: 11pt; COLOR: black; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">Faith and Fear skirmished <span style="FONT-SIZE: 11pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"> <span style="FONT-SIZE: 11pt; COLOR: black; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">For my thoughts and emotions, <span style="FONT-SIZE: 11pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"> <span style="FONT-SIZE: 11pt; COLOR: black; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">Sans lab-results to support either. <span style="FONT-SIZE: 11pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"> <span style="FONT-SIZE: 11pt; COLOR: black; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"> <span style="FONT-SIZE: 11pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> <span style="FONT-SIZE: 11pt; COLOR: black; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">Hope pushed Fear aside to wait. <span style="FONT-SIZE: 11pt; COLOR: black; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">One word, two syllables: “Benign”: <span style="FONT-SIZE: 11pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"> <span style="FONT-SIZE: 11pt; COLOR: black; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">The word I hoped to hear. <span style="FONT-SIZE: 11pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> <span style="FONT-SIZE: 11pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> <span style="FONT-SIZE: 11pt; COLOR: black; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">Skilled nurse removed the stitches: <span style="FONT-SIZE: 11pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"> <span style="FONT-SIZE: 11pt; COLOR: black; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">Polite, non-committal, and sterile. <span style="FONT-SIZE: 11pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> <span style="FONT-SIZE: 11pt; COLOR: black; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">Comforting doctor arrived with my word, <span style="FONT-SIZE: 11pt; COLOR: black; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">“Benign!” <span style="FONT-SIZE: 11pt; COLOR: black; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"> <span style="FONT-SIZE: 11pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> <span style="FONT-SIZE: 11pt; COLOR: black; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">Belief and Relief walked out with me. <span style="FONT-SIZE: 11pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"> <span style="FONT-SIZE: 11pt; COLOR: black; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">Dancing shoes of thanksgiving, <span style="FONT-SIZE: 11pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"> <span style="FONT-SIZE: 11pt; COLOR: black; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">Returned an empty hanger to God’s closet. <span style="FONT-SIZE: 11pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">
 * <span style="FONT-SIZE: 11pt; COLOR: black; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">

<span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">by Meg Rice <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Walked to school, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">girlfriend trio, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">seventh grade, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">all proudly wore <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">sewing class projects, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">completed, graded. <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">First time worn <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">on a school day: <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">wrap around skirts. <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Stocking caps, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Mittens, mufflers, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Winter coats <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">tightly buttoned <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">against chill winds. <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Bare legs, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">chilly red knees. <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Should have worn <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">jeans for warmth. <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Wind less chilling, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">knees felt warmer, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">wind has stopped? <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Skirt had dropped! <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Sash unbound, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">skirt on ground. <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Need a place, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">friendly face, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">to redress. <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">What a mess! <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">House on the hill, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">ring door bell. <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Nightgowned lady, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">thinks I’m crazy. <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">May I come in, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">my slip’s too thin. <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Need to redress. <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">In the hall? I guess. <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Thank you m’am, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">I’m warm again! <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Later, at school, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">I was the fool. <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">What, are you daft? <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Everyone laughed. <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Bothered a stranger? <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Weren't you in danger? <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Try a safety pin! <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">More laughter, more grins, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">To them I replied, <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">“Never again!” <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">
 * <span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Ode to a Wrap-Around Skirt **

<span style="FONT-SIZE: 9pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Verdana','sans-serif'; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'">Morning Prayer by Meg Rice upon viewing a painting in the gallery of Mid-American All-Indian Center

You pray in the morning, Sacred ritual observed, Prayer stick in hand. Reverent, contemplative, Inner-self honors Spirit beyond, You approach The Creator.

I pray in the morning, Prayer candle lit or fountain flowing, Prayer journal in hand. Reverent, contemplative, Inner-self honors Spirit beyond, I approach The Creator.

Do we not honor the same Life Source with our prayers? Is it not so, even though we call upon different names? We share: the same water, fire, air and earth, The same joy and wonder in those gifts and their beauty, The same consequences in failing to honor and protect them. How I pray my people will learn your ways and reverence for the Earth.

For those of us seeking greater wisdom and understanding, __Wisdomkeepers: Meetings with Native American Spiritual Elders__ by Steve Wall and Harvey Arden is a respectfully researched and written collection of shared understandings; available at the Mid-American All-Indian Center in Wichita, Kansas.

MIA by Meg Rice Black and white MIA flag Snaps In morning wind. Heart aches, Mind ponders. Many ways To go Missing-In-Action: Soldier killed, Left behind, POW. What of soldiers Lost in required action of war? One lost himself Engaged in combat. Gentle son; Turned violent. Circumstance required it. Numbness or Taste for the Kill, Allow him to do his job. Faithful father, big brother, Where are souls parked? When men commit acts of war? Why must so many Leave themselves Behind at battlefields? Return to us in body, With souls gone Missing In Action?

by Meg Rice <span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">Written with gratitude, for Debbie Wagner: artist, creative force, open spirit, and cancer survivor. <span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"> <span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">**With pastels and paper at the ready,** <span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">**watching through the warmth of her window,** <span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">**she repeats her morning ritual.** <span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">**Coffee and newspaper behind her now,** <span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">**she awaits the interplay of cloud and light.** <span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">**Playing symphonic colors across morning skies,** <span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">**misty muted hues hum the morning awake on one day,** <span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">**while on another, clear vibrant colors shout in** <span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">**“Call-and-Response” to eager eyes below.** <span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"> <span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">**A practiced eye, a patient spirit,** <span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">**knows the progression of approaching colors;** <span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">**knows when to wait and when to begin.** <span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">**Gently grasping the first pastel, eye to sky, color to page.** <span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">**Dust rises, as base colors settle into the tooth.** <span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">**The first wide chalk-strokes of morning color,** <span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">**mirror emerging light on the horizon.** <span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"> <span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">**Harmony swells between morning-sky-melody,** <span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">**and chanting chalk rhythm on bristled page.** <span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">**A heavenly palette paints clouds with thin initial blush.** <span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">**Tints and shades intensify to illuminate cloud banks.** <span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">**Multiple layers of color take their places on the page.** <span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">**Ever changing hues saturate air and cloud.** <span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">**The sky-song crescendos to forte,** <span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">**vibrantly sustains for several measures.** <span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">**Skilled hands, hastens on earth to capture its intensity.** <span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'"> <span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">**As the artist questions her finished work,** <span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">**hues crescendo to their highest chromaticity, Fortissimo!** <span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">**A moment of choice: to alter the piece completed before her,** <span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">**or honor that perfection above in reverent stillness. ** <span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">**For several fleeting measures, the morning sky sustains fortissimo,** <span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">**before an inevitable decrescendo, to blue sky and white clouds.** <span style="FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: 'Arial Narrow','sans-serif'">**A new morning has fully arrived.**
 * Welcoming the Sunrise**

Father’s Wings by Shirley Crosby My Father taught me many things, like how to soar on gifted wings, to use my voice in song for soothing, or persuade with language that’s moving. Father means the world to me, The way he shares lovingly, his strength, courage, warmth and wisdom shapes my thoughts and sharpens my vision. Majestic, noble, proud and regal, Father soars on wings of eagles. A prouder child there will never be for my Father gave his best for me.

<span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"><span style="COLOR: rgb(235,15,47)">(Please place picture and crop as needed) by Shirley Crosby ** Hot stinging sands Dancing in the breeze Little a price to pay this view my soul does please Painful to the touch Giant spires of green Adorning ground with shade Towering o’er the scene Azure sky by day cottony wisps of white… …slowly transform to orange welcome the cool of night creatures sing their songs howling to the moon treasure dark of night dawn’s heat comes too soon pleasing to the eye flourishing blooms so vibrant smiling at the sun whose light brings flower’s brilliance thus Sonora grows more beauty in sun she shares it all around for those who dare to come.
 * Beauty of Sonora



New War Math by JoAnne Grandstaff (RESIZE PHOTO TO 1/8 PAGE) one round minus one heart or one lung or  one head or one torso equal zero shrapnel adds metal multiplies pain divides fingers from arms toes from legs subtract blood equal zero smart or dumb one small bomb in volume single hit covers area remove family equal zero

hypocrisy by JoAnne Grandstaff don't hit your sister don't hurt the baby no playground fights be nice show love no arguing talk it out use your words hide your fists salute the flag keep the peace form a line join the force square shoulders hold your arms press uniform polish boots hit their girls kill their boys maim and hurt protect our home come home sit down be nice show love relax unwind get some sleep don’t think take it easy have some fun why the gun?

If William Carlos Williams, T.S. Eliot, and A., Lord Tennyson Had Been Forced to Deal with NCLB by Vernette Chance

“So much depends…”

So much depends upon

a state assessment

scrolling on the computer

before the glassy-eyed students.

The Hollow Curriculum by Vernette Chance

Here we go round the data based test, The data based test, the data based test. Here we go round the data based test At 8 o’clock in the morning.

The Charge of the Data Brigade by Vernette Chance

Half a ream, half a ream, half a ream wasted In the recycling bin lie the benumbered. Ours not to reason why; ours but to do and lie All in the recycling bin pitched we the blunders.

A Change of Season by Vernette Chance Children see snow as a sparkling wonder That blankets all with a shimmering white. Trees stand enshrouded; streets are a splendor Icy, packed tracks that stretch into the night. Day comes blinding in crystalline brightness, Magic with possible forts to be built, Angels to imprint upon the chaste blankness, Snowmen to summon to life, be it short. Parents see snow, think only of shovels, Cars sliding curbward, travel times doubled, Trees being split by piling white branchfuls, Sludgy gray mounds, not drifts to be tumbled. Salty slush shoveled off driveways and walks Sore arms, aching backs because of the stuff. Feeling like snowmen with eyes mad of rocks They trudge back inside, breathing out angry puffs.

The Angel Laughed by Chris Hockett The angel laughed He giggled, snickered Why did she do it? How unexpected She couldn’t resist She couldn’t say no The invitation Come, come Closer, closer Jump! SPLASH! Jump! Jump! Jump! SPLASH! SPLASH! An initial look of surprise Wide eyes Reddening cheeks OOOOOpened mouth Her look of worry Forehead wrinkled Eyes squinted Chin quivering Then the huge grin Water dripping From her nose Down her chin Gray hair stringing Over her forehead Sunday dress drenched Soaked to the skin Can I jump in the puddles too? And the angel laughed A big belly laugh With grandma and grandson

(I want this single spaced during the stanza and double spaced between stanzas. The last line is off set like a signature on a letter.) My Friend by Chris Hockett I lay on the bed Sun warming me. Words inside me waiting; Waiting to reach out, Waiting to touch a heart, Waiting to create a tear, Waiting to change a life. Who will come? Who will open me? How will they hold me? Tenderly with soft hands? Will they stay for hours Or hurry with little time Quickly casting me aside? Open me. Begin with the first word, Allow me to enter your very being. Continue on and on. Don’t put me down, Don’t leave me yet. Stay- Stay until the very end. When we are through And I am no longer with you, Carry me in your soul. Occasionally take out memories of me   And reminisce about the time. Time we spent together, Just the two of us and remember As you do times with old friends, Your cherished book

(DOUBLE SPACE BETWEEN STANZAS—LEAVE ONE BLANK LINE. BOLD THE TITLE. KEEP EVERYTHING FLUSH LEFT IN THIS ONE. THANK YOU!)

Emo Girl by Melodie Harris The bulky, parachuting, chain filled black pants swoosh down the hallway.

What shoes you are wearing, I can not see, but your eyes I do. The outside corners are ex-ed with black eye pencil.

Your gloved hand, but not fingers, hands me your paper, no doubt, a masterpiece. I can’t see your wrists, a black sweat band covers them too.

Your hair, it’s a different color again today, or at least parts are. Green, a little purple, unlike the blue of last week’s do.

Your appearance, your attire may distract others. Not me. I see the little girl, full of tales to tell and poems to pursue. I see the writer. Ciara, I see you.

(PLEASE INDENT THE FOLLOWING LINES BY HITTING THE SPACE BAR 3 TIMES: IN STANZA ONE: LINES 2, 4, 5, 6. IN STANZA TWO: 3, 5, 7. IN THE STANZA THREE:—IT ONLY HAS ONE LINE, INDENT THREE SPACES, PLEASE. DOUBLE SPACE BETWEEN EACH STANZA, BUT SINGLE SPACE WITHIN THE STANZA. PLEASE BOLD THE TITLE AND KEEP THE TITLE AND THE BYLINE FLUSH LEFT. THANK YOU!) One of Ruby’s Jewels by Melodie Harris I’m up next. I walk to the piano with a half dozen books in my arms. I see the photographs on the baby grand. Faces that sit, like me-- One of Mrs. Ruby Matson’s protégés-- A Saturday morning child, waiting to be taught. I glance around. The teacher has changed the knick-knacks on the always dustless end tables. The best China adorns the dining room table expecting company. A half-written letter awaits completion on the open secretariat. A mostly blackened score is place before me. Grieg's Holberg Suite.

Moldy Seeds by Steve Maack

What did Persephone think when Hades offered his seedy fruit? The story suggests that her choice Was conscious, and this seems to suit

Our notion of what dubious deeds Women, when faced with temptation, Will perpetrate, notions that run Through myriad stories of creation.

Perseph’s no different from Eve, Offered a fruit from a snake, Then a male god intrudes and claims He had to for woman’s sake.

But what if Persephone refuses To split that seed between her teeth, A test to see how deeply The will of a man can seethe

Toward a disobedient, impudent Woman with a will of her own, And she decides that the fruit She has so temptingly been shown

Should lie uneaten on the filthy Floor of hell, as she leaves him without Sex, without child, without love, only Moldy remnants of winter’s cold drought?

by Steve Maack
 * Spring Chill**

Too cold to sit outside Or so my mother or daughter Or even my wife might tell me— An early spring chill Suffuses the air while The sunshine belies it, Keen as the whine of a lonely dog.

Perhaps I should Stand up, move around, Dispose of a littered paper cup, Pull weeds from a bed, Perform jumping-jacks to Circulate my blood, Go indoors where it’s warm And the forced-air heat Cauterizes my pores.

But right now, I think I’d rather sit right here And listen to the birds (Who do not feel the cold And are, in fact, probably mating) So I can share in the loneliness of that dog.

by Steve Maack
 * To Fill a Void**

Every creation born of violent displacement, like the quaking shift of immovable masses where before one could see for miles without natural interruption, forms mountains that impose themselves upon our sight and sense as if to say— look here no more, for I am all you will ever see in this place again.

And if we dare mourn the loss of the flat, barren landscape, the mountain drips derision on our mortal shells, its mortality measured in terms we call eons but which we never understand.

With Orwellian Zen, the mountain glares at us, bitter and ironic, its superior mass draped like a pall over our insignificance— all things are impermanent, but some are more impermanent than others.

Thus we name gods and monsters, myths and mountains, the holy fruit of our artifice, to fill the void left from what nature destroys.

And it is good.

by Steve Maack
 * At a stop light in town**

At a stop light in town, a boy cowers in the back seat

because a man in front twists, reaches his tentacled arms back to

flail at the boy, beating him, jabbing at his legs, slapping his face,

punching chest and arms while the boy tries to shield himself from blows.

He wears a grimace, a triangle bounding a space between

fear, anger, and an instinct to flee, while the tentacled man holds

his mouth in an eerily similar, triangulate scowl. The

light changes and the car’s driver studies the light, shuts out the

grotesque dance bridging fore and aft, and chews her gum, without

turning her head left or right, as if running errands, or driving

to work, a preoccupied brand of willful ignorance. The light

changes, though nothing else does. They speed through it, and I

wonder if someone at the next light will show more courage than I.

The Painter by Jeff H. Roper God’s fine-tipped brush strokes. Lavender. White mixed with light pink. The green of spring with vibrant plants whose buds are ready to bloom. Japanese maples. Little Taxi-cab yellow flowers. Tulips, columbine, red mixed with bright white. Pastels of purple to lavender and off-white to pink. Could this be Monet’s “Garden of Giverny” in France? Rows of tulips greeting the sun, breaking through the light white puffy clouds. An arched wooden bridge trimmed in white paint. A sycamore tree with a naturally-curved tall trunk must be one hundred years old, with its patches and skin blotches at the trunk of the tree. Surely this isn’t Belle Plaine, Kansas in the heart of “Prairy Erth”? Beautiful gardens. Did not expect it. Rainbow colors— God’s fingerpainting.

Poetic Refuge by Jeff H. Roper Advance. Retreat. Timid. Shy. P icked on. Victimized. Ridiculed. Tormented. Flee. Pain. Tears. Solitude. Reflection. Great-grandmother’s nature poems. Entrancing. A world of imagery, metaphors, similes, and sheer beauty. A myriad of colors, even magenta. On to my own poetry. Haiku. Nature walks. Landscapes become my escape. May this poem’s simplicity torment my tormentors some day.

(ANDREW, PLEASE ARRANGE ON THE PAGE AS FOLLOWS: 2ND LINE OF EACH STANZA IS INDENTED 5SPACES, 3RD LINE IS INDENTED 12 SPACES FROM LEFT MARGIN, AND 4TH LINE IS INDENTED 2 SPACES FROM MARGIN. TITLE SHOULD BE CENTERED OVER THE PIECE.)

Lexicography by Vernette Chance

Someone should coin a word—bright, gold, like ore refined and pressed and stamped with dancing script— for conversations that leap and dip and spin. What word could mean all that and include the raucous laughter, flashing dispute, and shared memories, the verbal lunges and parries with tempers blunted? And what word is there for a friend, and sometimes foe, my fellow conspirator in this subversive art of conversation?

Five Variations: Angles by Zachary Lawrence

(ANDREW: filename linesupanddown.pdf as sent on 8/1/2008)

Untitled by Zachary Lawrence

There’re more rocks in the ground than on the road here and that one lone pine only grew after all the houses were gone nothin’ll grow here really anymore though I saw a disused garden tomatoes everywhere and no-one around to enjoy them

"Some Subtle Curve" by Zachary Lawrence

Some subtle curve arching toward heaven predicatable - patterned

I begged to be hoisted into the mossy bough

there were leaves in every gouge breaking dampness into

my eyes followed the branches up into the sun behind a cloud and I knew it was setting

"Collapsed Circle" by Zachary Lawrence

(ANDREW - use file collapsedcircle.indd.pdf as sent 8/1/2008 - please maintain line tabs)